


A Sorely Missed Connection

by evilchewbacca



Category: Cursed (TV 2020)
Genre: Arthur/Nimue is at the center, F/M, Future Brotp or OTP Arthur and Guinevere?, Grief/Mourning, Once and Future King, The beginning of the rise of the once and future king, Your choice., her presence is very much felt, introspective, though nimue isn't actually in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25837402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilchewbacca/pseuds/evilchewbacca
Summary: No, Nimue lived. She had to. They had left the opportunity of the evacuation of these lands, every last one of the Fey, for the choice to return to their queen. Their high regard for her leadership and power renewed from the highs of winning a battle, their first as a united front. And helped turn the tide of their enemy’s assault. Hope was in the air, it would do them little good to allow doubt in just now.
Relationships: Arthur & Red Spear | Guinevere (Cursed, Arthur/Nimue (Cursed), Arthur/Red Spear | Guinevere (Cursed)
Kudos: 7





	A Sorely Missed Connection

**Author's Note:**

> Post s1 Finale and during my fic, "The Terms of Fate." Can be read as part of the fic series or a stand-alone, completely your choice.
> 
> Pure unedited fic, so sorry!

The ride to the Royal camp felt far too long and arduous on Arthur. He felt uneasy as if something was wrong as if he and the Fey were far too lucky to find their queen, gain their freedom from the crown of Britannia and gain a new and so far proven effective ally all in one day. How bizarre to still consider them all lucky even as brothers and sisters fell in the battle fought only hours before. But even so, he couldn’t help the feeling dwell in his gut and counted them all far too lucky. Would fate truly trick them so easily into believing their cause had a chance only to tear the possibility from their grasp after they just reached it?

He didn’t want to think of the possibility of Nimue being struck down by the King all for the claim of the sword. And no more could he discount what he knew of Uther, of how his words were so meaningless that he went back on it to almost no consequence. Betrayed her and betrayed her people by setting those Viking raiders on the Fey. _For if not him who set them on the Fey, then who?_

The feeling of dread began pooling at his stomach, preparing him almost automatically for the worst. Even so, he elected to be optimistic. He refused to believe that there could be a world in which Nimue and he would be separated just as they found each other. She helped raise him from a thief of a sword to her right hand, helping lead her people to the ships, first, and now to her. _Their sword_.

“It just… it doesn’t make any sense. The Ice King,” the fearsome brunette beside him began, startling him out of his own troubling thoughts of Nimue, his glance her way must have been interpreted as disbelief at the titles the Dane’s gave one another because she immediately corrected herself, “… or rather Cumber. He wouldn’t want to work with the King of the Britons. He claims himself to be the true blood heir of the Pendragon. He wouldn’t ally himself to Uther. He would much rather lay him and his men to waste in a field somewhere for the surety of gaining his throne.”

“You believe that Uther did not betray us?” Arthur couldn’t help but eagerly question, the existence of such a possibility would mean that Nimue is out there unharmed.

She seemed to understand his deduction from her observation of the situation. She began, albeit with some hesitance, to explain her own view on the situation: “I do not wish to give you false hope that she isn’t in any danger. But from what I know and gathered since we landed here, I think there could be a chance, that perhaps your queen may not need saving at all.” In the end she gave him a cautious smile, clearly in an attempt to warn him that there is still the possibility that she could be wrong. But her words had reached him first, the hope that leaped from his heart louder and more forceful than the dread, silencing any bit of him that was willing to entertain the worst.

No, Nimue lived. She had to. They had left the opportunity of the evacuation of these lands, every last one of the Fey, for the choice to return to their queen. Their high regard for her leadership and power renewed from the highs of winning a battle, their first as a united front. And helped turn the tide of their enemy’s assault. Hope was in the air, it would do them little good to allow doubt in just now. They must be allowed to celebrate their victories and they would, heartily. And they would celebrate the lives of those who valiantly fought and fell fighting by their side, Wroth included.

But whatever hope found its way to the forefront of his mind, began to die not long after. Because before him even in some distance he could see the sight of the Pendragon camp… destroyed. Tents were torn asunder, bodies scattered all over the field. Some dead, others so severely injured they probably had doubts they would live past sundown. All weapons bloody, some thrown all around, and the others gripped by lifeless hands. There were some moans and crying, from those that were left alive and severely wounded.

The field was trampled by horses, long abandoning the camp and probably seeking safety at the epicenter of the kingdom with the King. There was nothing more clear to Arthur at that moment than the matter that they too were attacked, and it seems to have been just as a big surprise for them as it was for the Fey. Had it been Cumber’s Vikings that attacked them as well?

His companions all around him, both Fey and Dane alike slowed and eventually halted. They were as shocked as he was. Their merry reverie was forgotten, as the gruesome site permeated whatever illusion they were feeling before. The smells were horrid, explained only once he turned his head to his left and saw a few men, some paladins, and others that he only assumed to be Pendragon men, were burnt to crisp atop dead fires.

He felt the horse to his right ride up and he only heard her voice, as he couldn’t tear his eyes at that moment from what remained. “It seems that someone sympathetic to Cumber’s cause has already been through here,” the Red Spear spoke.

He felt uneasy and tried to swallow down his fear of what this could mean for Nimue before he dared to speak again, “Someone? You don’t think your Ice King did this?” It came out more frustrated than he intended. He felt like a frightened 12-year-old boy lost in grief and anger all over again.

The captain did not seem to hold this against them and spoke again, much softer and apologetic almost. “It’s far too clean to have been Dane, Cumber wouldn’t have been this kind to them. He would have ripped them in half torn out their limbs, he would have tortured them, stolen their silver… the swords would have been worth something to him. In foreign lands like these, my people need to find treasures like these,” she explained almost… kindly.

And when he allowed her words to sink in, he found that her words were true as he remembered what was left of Dagmar and he raiders once the Red Spear and her people joined their fight. While this was indeed gruesome, it was incomparable to the damage done earlier.

“They were surprised by this enemy, that’s for sure. But…” she took a moment to observe, “this was not Cumber. This… this is someone else. Cumber would want everyone to know his great Victory over the Britons, he wouldn’t attack in the night for that would defeat that purpose.”

From what she said, he understood two things: they had a new surprising turn in this war – could this mean new enemies or more allies? he did not know – and had this been Cumber, Nimue would have been dead on sight, for the sword gave her strength, and she had chosen to leave it behind. This gave them a bigger chance for her to be alive either way, be it enemy or ally, the wolf-blood witch for the sword of power would be too good a bargain to pass up. So he nodded in response, a debate with himself growing in his mind.

“And Cumber is **not** my king. Not anymore.” She finished sharply, letting him make the assumption there was more story there that he should privy to in order to fight together fairly.

“We need to figure out what happened,” he began resolutely, “and then we need to go from there.” He hoped he sounded like the leader Nimue made him be in her absence. Temporarily, for he knew she would be back. _Soon,_ his heart seemed to whisper.

“I agree. We check the dead and the living, there may be someone that may tell us what happened here and… they may tell us what happened to your queen,” she responded to him before she turned back to all those that were following behind them. “Check all, dead, or living! Healers, Fey or Dane, converge in the largest tent still standing, save those who you can, and call on us once someone can talk! Help those pass to the next who are left to die! We shall camp here for the next three nights if we must!” Arthur couldn’t help but balk at how much she commanded as an experienced leader, her voice drawing action from her people and even some Fey seemed to fall in line with her demand.

Kaze and he shared a look before they both nodded agreeing to listen to the Captain’s command, and Kaze repeated the Red Spears words. Everyone fell in line quickly. The camp was bustling with movement, as they all sought to do as the Captain demanded.

Kaze seemed to direct herself to the Red Spear for more questions rather than him. For she was a great leader, but in some ways, the Red Spear seemed less hesitant to take command than both he and Kaze and seemed well-versed with recovery in battles with heavy losses.

So he couldn’t help but feel thankful that there was someone here to help carry the burden for this was always meant to be Nimue’s job, not his and he felt severely unqualified. She would be a most appreciated help in the days they would feel lost without the guidance of Nimue and the Hidden who speak through her.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Hours later, the darkness had fallen and they had built fires for light and warmth. For hours those who could not help in the healers' attempts to save lives or in helping remove the dead had helped find food and erect the tents that were still salvageable so many would have shelter.

He wandered across the camp, he and Kaze had split duties in directing the people to do as the Red Spear had advised them. They both had a hand in helping bury the dead, less a forgiving act to them and for what they had done to the Fey, and more in effort to shield the children from the sight and the smell. There were many still left alive in the tent being healed, seemingly with a greater chance of survival than he had thought. But who could have blamed his doubt? The field had looked closest to being a burial mound than anything else even remotely habitable.

Nimue’s friend, Pym, was left in charge of the healers by Red Spear and instructed to call on him, her and Kaze once someone could talk. On their way out of the tent, she had turned to him and told him that she may be a shit healer but she was smart. He couldn’t help but feel that it was high praise coming from her. And on some level, he felt Pym felt the same. A sort of silent appreciation from the woman that could probably kill with a glare.

So it was no surprise when the redhead came running to him frantically with Kaze at her heels. Eagerly carrying out the task she was instructed to do earlier. She practically screamed, “THERE’SONEKNIGHTTHAT’SREADYTOTALK!” Her words clunked together, making it impossible to understand.

At his bewildered look, Kaze quickly interjected before Pym could repeat her words, “One of the Pendragon soldiers awoke and is conscious enough to speak. He can inform us what happened to Nimue.”

He couldn’t help but let the hopeful smile gleam on his face. “We must inform the Red Spear immediately.”

“Already did! She’s waiting for you both in the healing tent.” Pym informed. “You see, I took the initiative as the head of the healers. As a leader, you sometimes have to. With everyone in that tent looking to me and everything, had to make a lot of quick decisions, saved some lives – all in a day’s work,” she boasted as she began to lead them there.

Her attempt at impressing them had highly amused him and Kaze as they followed behind her. Both of them shaking their heads and sharing smiles, for excitement was once against contagious. Between the three of them, you could feel the hope vibrate around them as they moved, closer to the truth and hopefully, closer to Nimue.

When Pym moved the tent flap back, he was afforded the sight of Red Spear standing in front of a bed as a knight sat upright, his legs touching the floor to the side of the makeshift bed they gathered from the remains of all the tents.

He and Kaze rushed forward through the tent to where Red Spear stood, leaving Pym behind them had she wanted to join them she would have been forced to quicken her pace to keep up with them. Kaze, much quicker than him, asked, “Has he told you what happened yet?”

The Red Spear was not stirred from sizing up the knight before her, observing everything, as if just looking informed her enough. She answered, “No, not yet. I just introduced myself… was waiting for you both to begin. After all, we are allies now.”

Arthur felt relieved to hear it, he didn’t think he would believe anything that wasn’t told to him firsthand. “Thank you,” he told her sincerely.

She merely nodded. “He calls himself sir Yvain. Sir Yvain, this is Arthur and Kaze, leaders of the Fey,” she informed him.

“Not leaders of the Fey. We serve the Fey Queen and only lead in her absence,” Kaze, beside him, was quick to correct.

Arthur could only nod in agreement. He kneeled down in front of the knight, getting down to his level before he began, “Sir Yvain, tell me. What on earth happened here?”

“We were attacked, my lord.” Sir Yvain answered solemnly. At being called lord, he felt himself twitch, for that was always his dream as a boy to be as revered and full of honor as a lord with his own castle but he wasn’t one, couldn’t ever be one.

“We thought as much,” Red Spear spoke, not meanly but as matter of fact. “Tell me, sir Yvain, who did this?”

Sir Yvain turned to look at the Captain. “It… it was the red paladins, my lady.” He turned again to Arthur as if something in him compelled him to, before he continued, “they betrayed us my lord. They came in the night for the Fey girl and her sword. Took command of the camp and hurt us, when we fought back… it was a lost fight as most of us were drunk. We didn’t expect this to say the least.”

Arthur found he couldn’t help but voice his feelings and he spoke rather quietly, “I’m not a lord…” He continued much louder and more commanding almost as if he were a lord, “and the Fey Queen, what of her?”

“I… I remember a… a woman I think, all dressed in black a dark veil covering her face, she came and handed the girl a sword and she destroyed the Father. We began fighting by that time but I saw them run to where Merlin the Magician was being held. And they were gone after that, then I was in the thick of it.” He seemed apologetic, “I’m sorry, that’s all I remember, all I know.”

“It’s alright. Thank you, sir Yvain,” Arthur thanked. He was brimming with hope, Nimue made it out, with Merlin by her side and the sword in hand, she was at her most powerful. She was alive and surely, she was in search of them all.

“Anything else I can do for you my lord, you need only ask.” Sir Yvain responded. And Arthur knew his confusion was evident, because sir Yvain immediately answered his silent question with much vehemence, “You saved us all, we are indebted to you. I won’t let any of what remains of my men ever forget it.”

Arthur was shocked, to say the least, Kaze nodded after a bit before taking her leave outside of the tent. While Red Spear stood there longer as if her mind was processing much more than he knew. He opened his mouth to question her and knight further and he might have if Kaze hadn’t sharply called out, “ARTHUR! It’s urgent, get over here!” Her voice so demanding, he felt he ultimately did not have a choice.

He moved quickly, leaving behind the Red Spear, the knight, and whatever hope he just gained from the conversation. He regretted it the minute he pulled back the flap and stepped out of the tent. He looked around as all the Fey stood and he saw even the Danes wore shocked looks. At the very center, he saw Merlin and there also stood a woman dressed in all black, whose face he could not see from where he stood, hugging him tightly and… that was it. No, Nimue. And suddenly it felt as if his world was spun out of its axis, he was deaf to all noise, blind to everything but the sight before him.

Once the woman turned, he saw the face of his sister and felt some relief, as if something would be okay. But even that relief was false, as he registered the look on her face then that of Merlin’s. He saw tears, anger, and greatest of all, grief was plain on their faces. His sister began mouthing his name and stepping towards him but he couldn’t process any of it. It was as if he was in this moment but not truly, just a ghost looking on. God, Arthur felt faint. He didn’t know what was going to happen next, whether he would faint or if his body would begin to operate automatically. It was as if his brain had shut off for the next hours and he would never recover that time or the memory of what occurred during it. His world had gone dark.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

When he finally awoke from his fugue state it was an hour short of sunrise, the camp was quiet but he was sure his assumption was true and the grief of the Fey could be felt around him outside of the tent. Or perhaps he was projecting his feelings to them all. When he last was conscious of his surroundings only he, Red Spear and Kaze knew what had happened. No one else did, except perhaps Pym had she stayed close enough to hear them.

He was thankful he had chosen the furthest tent from the rest of the camp once it was offered to him for being one of the leaders of the Fey. He felt restless and had he been close to all the others, he was convinced his mood would have been felt by all those around him. He got up from the cot where he had awoken on, but if he were honest it was more like throwing himself off the bed. And walked, his feet pounding ahead towards the table that was also salvaged from the battle site to light a candle. Once it was lit, he saw on the table a plate set before it with food, as if the person beckoned him to eat and subsequently to move on, live on. There was no one else that would care enough for him left at camp but Morgana, and while he was touched, he felt a rage unlike any other overcome him. And he threw the plate across the tent and it slid in the ground, before stopping. At the feet of the Red Spear.

“I… I’m sorry,” he found himself stumbling on himself, embarrassed by his rage. “I didn’t mean to throw my plate at you.”

“It’s alright, I doubt you knew I was here,” she hesitated, “I _know.”_

“You know?” The meaning of her affirmation landing heavy on his heart. He softly asked, waiting for someone outside of himself to confirm the news, “So it’s true? She… she’s gone.” All she did was nod sympathetically, and he didn’t blame her for what could she do. She knew very little of Nimue, of their story, of what she meant to all of them… _to him_.

He couldn’t help but let out a growl of rage as he turned to kick the table in anger, in grief. He did it once, then again, and again. Over and over again. The Red Spear kept her distance, silent where she was in her place near enough to the entrance of the tent to leave if she had to but far enough to let him know she wouldn’t leave easily, letting him wear himself out. With every kick, it grew more frenzied, as if he wanted to destroy the table for some imaginary offenses as if it was to blame for Nimue’s death.

He didn’t know how long it had been, perhaps ten minutes or twenty but eventually, every bit of what he felt was boiling and he had to let it out. He turned to the Red Spear and began as if in an argument with her, “What are we all to do?!?! She was their leader! And now she’s gone. Dead. I, I promised her. What am I to do without her?” He didn’t expect anything from her, no comforting words, nothing at all. If anything he more so expected her to be appalled at him turning on her.

Except surprisingly, she wasn’t. She stepped once forward and implored, “You go on.”

“What?” He questioned astonished as if it was too impossible a task. The grief was far too fresh in his mind and heart.

She again stepped forward, “You go on, live on. You do your queen no honor in giving up, in giving in to grief. You use it and you push forward in name of her.” Her tone sympathetic and concern in her eyes.

He wanted to argue, he wanted to fight and he wanted to give in. Lay down his sword and rest and see her on the other side. He pushed, “How are the people meant to? How are the fey to go on if they lost two leaders in such a short time?” He sought out to win this argument, he wanted to be right. This cause felt lost without her. “The people do not listen to Merlin, they see him an ally to Nimue, sure. But they too see a traitor.”

She hesitated and he thought perhaps he was winning, so it felt like a punch when responded after thinking, “…You.”

“What?” he repeated, he felt a very idiotic man. For he did not see as she did.

Maybe she too thought him dim, for she explained her view further, “You told me you promised to lead her people to safety. You have gained their respect, you too have gained the respect of the Pendragon knights…”

“That was your idea, not mine!” He interrupted.

“On your objective to find out what happened,” she huffed. “You have aligned yourself with their cause to no personal gain of your own and great risk to your life by Cumber’s raiders and the Christians. You have led their defense. Convinced the leader of the Tusks to join you as you and Kaze said.” She let that sink in, but she refused to give Arthur the floor just yet. And so she continued, “What’s more, if they are led by … man-blood, then they will gain more man-blood support in these lands. I saw how sir Yvain looked to you, Arthur. You could become their shield against prejudice and hate, Arthur.” He could tell she felt uncomfortable at this point. It was as if the word man-blood felt to her strange and wrong in her mouth, and he understood if he had not spent as much time as he had with Nimue and her people, using their terms would still feel as uncomfortable as they had at the start. But she walked closer to him imploring him further. “There is no better choice. It would be idiocy to not even consider it! I…I mean no insult, truly. I admire you for what you’re doing. I’ve done them wrong myself before,” she paused and looked down he could feel how ashamed she felt for thinking that way, “always considered them bad omen and luck on us all. You showed me different in the fight against Dagmar. Minnow showed me different as well. And how we all came together to set up camp and take care of the wounded. I know better now.” She now stepped in front of him.

“But Nimue…” He felt himself begin to argue weakly. “This her throne, her destiny. It’s not mine. I can’t steal it from her. I _can’t_!”

“Red Spear reached her hand out and squeezed his shoulder as if willing her strength along with her arguments to reach him. “You won’t be, Arthur. You promised before to lead before in her name, you’ll do it again. For her, just as you promised _to_ her. Do not forget your vows, our word is sometimes all we have. And Death will not be her end, she lives within you and everyone here who loved her. Let her live again through fighting her cause to the last. Let her live in every action you take to protect her people. Arthur… let her live again.” She argued.

How could he deny Nimue her existence, his word to her? How could he allow her will to die with her? He couldn’t and so he wouldn’t. “…She will live. I won’t let her die from hearts…” He found a new resolve. He turned his face to the roof of his tent, looking past it to God or the Hidden or whatever looked at them all from above and found himself making one declaration before he could truly accept this role, that he had taken so lightly when he first promised to do it: “I’ll never forget her. No matter what happens, I loved her first. That love must guide me, her memory will motivate me…” Then his eyes returned to Red Spear, who had been so kind as to lead him back down the right path to honor Nimue. He found himself all the more grateful to have her by his side. “The Fey and I… we _go on_.”


End file.
